


Alec Lightwood: Self-Sacrificing Slut

by hrjohnso



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Finger Sucking, Lack of Communication, M/M, Major Character Injury, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, they love each other tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26222149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrjohnso/pseuds/hrjohnso
Summary: Alec always almost-dies. Magnus is sick of it. Angry sex ensues.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 141





	Alec Lightwood: Self-Sacrificing Slut

Their fight started the same way it always did: with a battle.

Alec, as Magnus saw it, had put himself in unnecessary danger. He was always trying to martyr himself, to throw himself in between death and a different soul, and even though it was sometimes Magnus's own soul Alec was protecting, it still infuriated him.

“You don't have to be a sacrifice!” he screamed now, now that they were both safe in their New York loft. “You don't have to take care of everyone!”

Magnus, as Alec saw it, was always overprotective. A mother hen. It was condescending at best and dangerous at worst. He was a _warrior;_ Magnus was too, of course, but a reluctant one, a warlock who'd been coaxed into war more times than he'd like, but Alec was a _soldier_ ; a _fighter_ ; it was his job, his passion, his identity. And he _loved_ his friends. He loved his family. If he could protect them, why wouldn't he?

“I'm not _trying_ to die!” he shouted back, fingers white around the stem of his wine glass, hand shaking. “I'm trying to make sure no one _else_ dies!”

This battle had been particularly bad. Demons had surprised them; they were always ready for a fight but this was an ambush. They weren't as prepared as they would have chosen to be.

“That's just it, Alexander,” Magnus said, exasperated; “ _You_ are trying to make sure no one dies. Why does it always have to be _you_!?”

It had been Magnus and Alec, Simon and Izzy, and Jace and Clary. They'd just finished eating dinner at a restaurant in SoHo; a rare triple date. They'd spent so much time together during the Mortal War that they didn't go out a lot as a group anymore, as though to do so would be a reminder of all they'd lost during the war (Alec’s brother Max, for instance), but they were starting to get comfortable in a post-war world again. There would always be a need for shadowhunters, for soldiers; the demons weren't going to vanish. But the demon armies had, for now, been banished to Edom, and the shadowhunters were beginning to relax around each other.

Well, relax as much as they _could_ , anyway. Jace's first instinct when he heard a loud noise was still to grab at the place his sword would be if he was in gear; Clary's was to reach for her boot, where she always kept a knife. Upon the arrival of unexpected guests, Isabelle touched the skin on her collar where her spelled ruby necklace used to rest. Simon had even bought her a new necklace, one not demon-related at all but something elegant and fierce, just like Izzy, in the hopes that it could overpower the memory associated with that familiar motion, that hand-to-throat fear. But even Simon, probably the gentlest of them all, would tongue his incisors when he saw sudden movements, a barely-noticeable tic, as though he were checking to see if his teeth had extracted enough yet to defend himself against any attackers.

But tonight had been different. Tonight, Alec had been able to look at Jace across a table and not feel the phantom burn of their parabatai rune, the ghost of Jace's death at Lake Lyn years ago. And Jace had met his eye, and then turned to laugh at something Clary said. Clary and Simon shared that look that only parabatai share, and Simon leaned into Izzy, and Alec had looked up at Magnus and Magnus was surveying their party with this utter _warmth_ , this centuries-old care, like seeing them happy made him happy. And then Magnus had looked at Alec, and the warmth grew and spread over to him, and they'd left the restaurant smiling, all six of them. Smiling and laughing. Not quite healed, but with the very definite beginnings of healing looming over them.

And then the illusion of safety and farness-from-danger fell away and they were all reaching for the swords and knives and necklaces and teeth, and they were being surrounded by over a dozen demons, who were spilling out of alleyways like a flood of black tar.

“It was _Izzy,_ Magnus!” Alec yelled. It came out raspier than he meant. He wanted to sound angrier, but he was so tired. He tried anyway. “You would have let my _sister_ die just to prove a point to me about my quest for martyrdom?”

Magnus sagged at that. He looked exhausted as he walked over to take the wine glass from Alec's hand. Alec looked at it. It was broken, although he hadn't noticed it break, the bowl cleanly severed from the stem where he'd been holding it. The Cabernet sank into the hardwood at Magnus's feet.

“Are you hurt?” Magnus asked quietly.

Alec didn't answer. Izzy really _had_ almost died this time; everyone was holding their own, but they were outnumbered, and the Dranoch demons had surrounded her. He remembered her whip lashing out in front of her, slicing one, slicing a second, and she’d been sparring with a third when one landed behind her and extended its tail, ready to strike.

“I mean your hand,” Magnus amended. He took Alec's hand and examined it. It _was_ cut, Alec realized, though not badly. A glass splinter glinted through the blood. Magnus sighed, a particularly exasperated sigh he saved for these situations, and he pulled a stool around to sit next to the bed. He didn't have to summon tweezers or alcohol; everything was still in place, medical tools soaking in sanitizer on the bedside tray from when he'd treated Alec's wounds hours earlier.

Alec hadn't meant to simply jump in front of the demon. He wasn’t trying to be a human shield. He'd had a knife, not his bow and arrow like he was used to (his therapist had suggested he stop carrying it everywhere, because, she said, “It isn't protection anymore; it's a security blanket.”), and he was poised to strike as soon as he landed. He just wasn't fast enough. Wasn't used to the heavy weight of the bladehandle compared to the effortlessness of his bow, the light, fast arrows. And although he'd moved as quickly as he knew how, it was only after the oozing black tip of the Dranoch's tail had plunged through his stomach that he managed to bring the blade down and sever the appendage from the demon.

He'd collapsed immediately. He would have lost the world then and there, on the cold ground of their unexpected battle, but he had to know he’d finished the demon. Had to know he wasn’t going to lose another sibling. He’d known, vaguely, that someone was shouting his name, and he watched the Dranoch burst into blue flame as Magnus rushed over. He’d spun his head around to look for the others. They’d finally thinned the herd; they were ahead now, and Izzy looked like one of those brutal statues of warrior goddesses, the spiked heel of one of her boots planted in the eye socket of a demon she’d slain and her hair flinging droplets of ichor and blood through the air as she turned to look at him.

“Alec!” she’d screamed, and he saw her become frenzied, and he knew that Jace was doing the same thing--knew that his parabatai was seeing him on the ground and then giving himself over to the monster that you had to become to fight monsters. They all swirled except Magnus; they dispatched demons in an efficient haze behind Magnus’s head, and Magnus had not moved at all, had only stared into Alec’s eyes and pulled his head into his lap and held his shoulders and his face and said “Hold on, Alec, just hold on.”

And Alec had let go. He’d woken in his and Magnus’s apartment hours later, screaming and writhing until Jace and Magnus had to bind him to the bed while Izzy whispered to him, “Shh, Magnus will take care of it, it’ll be out soon.”

Clary and Simon had gone back to the Institute to make their report, but Izzy and Jace did not leave him as Magnus carefully extracted the barbed, poisonous tail tip from Alec’s gut. They did not flinch away when he screamed and cursed at them to let him go. They passed Magnus various tools, poured whiskey for each other in the moments they could do nothing, and wiped sweat from Alec’s face when it was over. Three long agonizing hours after Alec had woken, Magnus had taken care of it, just as Izzy promised he would.

And then they had whispered goodbyes and squeezed Alec’s hand and gone home, gone to leave him in peace so he could recover.

Magnus had not felt peaceful. He didn’t think Alec should, either. He’d left him to sleep while he cleaned up and made himself a drink, and as he sat and sipped his wine, glaring at his unconscious boyfriend from his chair, he simmered. He’d known he should wait to bring it up, that Alec would heal faster if Magnus wasn’t shouting at him for getting hurt, but a bitter, childishly enraged part of him thought, _He’ll_ never _be healed enough for this conversation._

And when Alec had woken again, well enough to sit up and smile lopsidedly and ask for his own glass of wine so they didn’t miss their Friday night drinks tradition, Magnus had not been quite charmed enough to quell his anger. And Alec, because he is Alec, had noticed Magnus’s too-tight grip on the wine bottle and his stiff gait and he had asked, “What’s wrong?”

And all the fear, all the blood draining from Alec’s stomach wound, the way he’d been able to see the sheets beneath Alec _through_ the hole in his gut; all the times Magnus had watched him almost-die, all the strain of fixing him over and over and over again while everyone else walked away unscathed because _Alec_ had to be the only one hurt; it all exploded in Magnus, and in an uncharacteristic fit of terrified anger, he let it.

Now he was squinting at the piece of glass in Alec’s hand and wishing all wounds could be as superficial as a splinter.

“You know I wouldn’t let Izzy die,” he said, reaching the tweezers into the cut.

Alec huffed out as Magnus pinched at his skin to urge the splinter forward. “I know,” he said. “I know that.”

“I was already aiming at the demon behind her,” Magnus said.

Alec looked up at him. “I didn’t see you.”

“That’s because when you see someone you love in danger, you absolutely lose your head, Alexander.” He tugged the bit of glass free from Alec’s hand and dispatched it in the trash. “You don’t look to see if anyone else is going to do the saving. You just move.”

Anger flushed Alec’s face again, and he opened his mouth to respond, but Magnus held up a hand. “I mean,” he said. He stopped and sighed again. “I don’t mean to call you reckless. I know you only want everyone to be safe. But--” he paused here, afraid of how selfish he would sound, then deciding that after three years together, dammit, he was allowed to be a little selfish. “Do you ever think of what that does to _me_?”

Alec looked confused. Magnus finished wiping off the tweezers and dropped them back into the sanitizer. “Or what it does to Jace, or to Isabelle? I know, I _know_ , there have been moments in battle when they truly would not have survived had you not intervened. I know you’ve saved their lives, and they have saved yours. But sometimes I wonder--” He paused to wrangle his thoughts into palatable, fair words, ones that wouldn’t sting more than they had to. “I wonder if you care about yourself,” he finished.

Magnus waited. Alec looked stunned but said nothing, so he went on. “That thing you’re so scared of--seeing someone you love die--you put me through that every time you do this. And maybe it’s not fair of me--” Alec tried to interrupt him, but he barrelled over him--”maybe it’s not fair of me to expect you to play defense in every single fight you’re in, but it isn’t fair of _you_ to throw yourself into battle the way you do, like _someone_ has to die in _every_ fight and you want to make sure it’s you and not someone else. It isn’t fair of you to come home bleeding and half-alive and wait for me to _fix you up_ \--”

Alec got a word in this time. “That’s not true!” he shouted. “I don’t just-- _wait_ for you to--and if you wanted to, you could--”   
“I could _what_ ?” Magnus asked. “I could leave you in the doorway and see if you’re still alive in the morning? I could put you to bed and say _I love you_ and leave ichor in your veins until it reaches your brain and dements you? Please tell me what I could do, Alexander, because I can guarantee it’s nothing I’d want.”

“You could leave,” Alec said, so quietly that Magnus had to ask him to say it again. “You could leave me. We could break up.”

Magnus froze. He was still holding Alec’s hand, he realized now, still pinching a little at the place the glass had entered. A drop of blood had dried into a garnet orb at his fingertips and he let go. Alec’s hand fell.

“Is that what you want?” he asked.

Alec’s face was red and he was shivering a little. Magnus hadn’t even noticed the little shakes, and he _knew_ he should have waited to be mad, but gods, he’d just been _so mad_.

“No,” Alec said, “but it might be what you want.”

He took Alec’s hand again. “That is not what I want,” he said. “It’s not. Alexander. I just--” he scrubbed at his face with his free hand, frustrated with how much he _didn’t_ want to leave Alec, but not ready to stop being angry yet. “By the angel, I just want you to _live_.”

Alec squeezed Magnus’s hand. They were silent for a minute, and then he sighed and said, “I get it. I really--I am sorry, Magnus. For making you feel scared. I just--” he closed his eyes tightly, and although Magnus never thought Alec looked frail, there was something sick and shaky about him in that moment, and he was glad they were holding hands. “I just can’t lose someone,” he finished. The unspoken _again_ floated up like a bubble that Magnus wanted to pop. Alec should never have had to lose anyone to begin with. But that was the world; as long as you lived, you lost. They both knew it and the knowledge never made it easier. Which, Magnus thought, was precisely _why_ Alec should see things from his point of view; he didn’t want to lose anyone, either. Especially not Alexander.

“Do you want some water?” Magnus asked. He struggled to suppress the remnants of his frustration; he was still making plans in his head for his next seminar ( _How Not to Kill Yourself in Battle 101; Attendance Mandatory, especially for Alexander Lightwoods_ ), but Alec was falling back against his pillows now and loosening his grip on Magnus’s hand, and he thought it should wait.

But as he stood to get water, Alec gripped his hand again. “Magnus,” he said. “Are you still angry with me?”

Magnus stopped and looked at Alec. His eyes were big and blue and searching, and sometimes when he said “are you mad at me?” it meant Magnus should go over and hold him and say things like “yes, but it doesn’t matter” or “no, of course not, I love you,” as though he could use his affection to paper over all the times that Alec had asked his father that question with those big, sad eyes even larger when he was a child, only to watch Robert Lightwood turn away in annoyance; but sometimes... sometimes Alec asked if he was mad, and he gripped his hand so tightly it hurt, and his eyes got a little glassy like they were now, and it meant that Magnus _should_ be a little mad. It meant that Alec _knew_ he was still angry, and that Alec _wanted_ him to still be angry, that Alec _needed_ him to be mad at him.

“You’re still sick,” Magnus said.

“I don’t care,” Alec said, and his voice was a breath, and his hold on Magnus’s hand tightened even more. “Are you still angry?”

Magnus sighed. “I--”

“ _Please_ , Magnus. I thought--I thought I was going to lose Izzy tonight, and I--how I’d lose you if you left, and I couldn’t--I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything, and of course if you’re not still mad, it’s--but Magnus, Magnus, _please_ \--”

The last “please” was drawn out and broken, and Magnus’s breath hitched a little. The remnants of his rage were bubbling under his skin, anticipating their next release so much sooner than they expected it to be allowed, but he kept them at bay.

He looked hard at Alec. Looked for the clarity in his eyes and the color in his skin that meant it was okay for him to ask this. Looked for all the signs that he was present.

“I’m getting you some water,” he said, and Alec dropped his hand and looked like he was about to cry. “And after you’ve drunk the _whole glass_ ,” he added, “you’re going to tell me your safeword.”

Alec’s gaze snapped up, eyes alight from their almost-tears and now from anticipation as well, and Magnus turned back to the kitchen.

Magnus took a deep breath as he reached in the cupboard for a glass. It felt dangerous to use his frustration like this, to take it out on Alec while he was weakened, even if Alec asked for it; but by the angel, he _did_ want to take it out on him. He wanted to make him feel what he felt.

And when he took the chair beside the bed again and watched Alec drain the glass, saw his hands still shaking slightly from the venom, splashing water down his shirtless front; the water falling where blood had been hours earlier, where that horrible wound was still closing; he knew he needed this as badly as Alec did.

He took the glass from Alec’s hands and looked at him levelly. Alec stared back.

“What is your safeword?” Magnus asked.

“It’s ruby,” Alec said, just as levelly.

“And you’re going to use it if you feel any pain, or if your stitches pull?”

“Yes,” Alec whispered.

Magnus stood. He was taller than Alec when they were both standing, a good four inches higher, and he loved it; he loved it even more when Alec was seated or reclining, when he could tower over him like this. He felt like he could keep him here under his shadow. Keep him here and safe and away from all the threats of death and war that assailed them so regularly.

“Yes?” Magnus asked.

“Yes, Mr. Bane.”

The first time they’d met, Magnus had introduced himself and Alec shook his hand, saying, “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bane.” A shadowhunter had never addressed him so formally. In fact, it had been at least a century since a man so attractive had used an honorific in reference to him at all. And then it had been during a particularly scandalous evening in a bed in France in the company of a concierge who had gone above and beyond his welcoming duties. Incidentally, that had been the day Magnus discovered his proclivity towards dominance. 

Magnus had quickly corrected him-- “Just Magnus, please, Alexander” --and Alec acquiesced, but long after Alec had left, Magnus could not stop picturing that room in France, with some amendments to the recollection. The memory shifted so that Alexander Lightwood took the place of the concierge, blue eyes looking up through thick dark lashes, full lips around the words “Yes, Mr. Bane” as he got to his knees.

They’d become a couple only two months after that first meeting, and it had taken Magnus a few months after that to work up the courage to ask Alec if maybe it was something he’d like to try. He’d been surprised at his shy Alexander’s enthusiasm, but, he thought now, it really did make sense; Alec’s type-A personality, his rule-following and self-sacrificing, his need for control, it all fit. The only place he could let go of how responsible he felt for the world was with Magnus, under the guise of an entirely different type of self-sacrifice and rule-following than those he experienced in battle.

And hearing it now--”Yes, Mr. Bane”--was the last bit of encouragement Magnus needed. Yes, his Alexander was lying in bed, still sick from a wound that was not quite gone, but he was awake and alive and looking at him as though they were in battle and Magnus was an outstretched blade.

He climbed on the bed and rested his knees on either side of Alec’s thighs and his hands by Alec’s head so he was crouching over him like a cat over prey.

“Why am I angry with you, Alexander?” he asked.

“Because I--I got hurt again, Mr. Bane.”

Magnus used the tip of his boot to nudge Alec’s shin. “Elaborate.”

“You’re angry with me because I got hurt trying to save someone else. Again.”

Magnus nodded, and at the movement, Alec craned his neck up, trying to reach him for a kiss. _Not yet_ , Magnus thought.

“Undress me,” he told Alec. Alec was still under him, very nearly pinned, and his movements were tight and restricted when he reached up to Magnus’s shirt buttons. His fingers stumbled and shook but the work was quick. He stopped when the buttons were all undone. He struggled harder with Magnus’s jeans, but managed to undo that button, as well.

“Well?” Magnus asked. His shirt was open now, curtained around Alec. The zipper was still up on his pants.

“I can’t reach, sir,” Alec said.

Magnus leaned in closer to give Alec more access. He let his lips graze Alec’s ear, flicked his tongue out to get a reaction. Alec whimpered.

“Try now,” he whispered in Alec’s ear.

Alec went back to the shirt and Magnus lifted one arm, then the other, so Alec could pull the sleeves free. He managed the zipper on the pants and pushed down as far as he could go but they clung to Magnus’s waist. He tried to sit up so he could reach further down, but Magnus held him in place, squeezing his knees against Alec’s thighs to keep him there.

“Magnus, I can’t reach,” Alec protested. Magnus lifted himself and arched an eyebrow at Alec.

“I mean, Mr. Bane,” Alec said, his voice higher than it had been. “I still can’t reach, Mr. Bane.”

“For all your prowess in battle, Alexander,” Magnus said, “I would really expect you to be able to do something as simple as removing another man’s pants from beneath him.” But despite the command in his tone, Magnus was starting to feel almost as desperate as Alec looked, so he helped Alec scoot his pants all the way off, pausing only to kick off his shoes, which Alec really could not reach. He discarded his clothes on the floor and got off the bed himself so he could pull the sheets off of Alec. Jace and Isabelle had helped Magnus get Alec into a pair of clean sweatpants after the wound had been cleaned, and that was all Alec wore now, and they were low on his hips. Magnus reached for the drawstring and pulled the pants lower, lower, then off entirely, and he got up on the foot of the bed to sit on his heels, Alec’s feet between his spread knees.

He gave Alec a slow once-over. He knew this was part of what Alexander liked; the feeling of being exposed, of being _seen_. Magnus liked it, too. He liked looking. Alec’s black hair was tousled, patches of it still sweaty. His eyes were closed and he was biting his lower lip the way he did when he was embarrassed or turned on. His shoulders were strained with the effort of not moving under Magnus’s gaze. His chest and his stomach were taut, all lean, purposeful muscle, the body of a warrior. Runes and scars were scattered across his skin.

There was a patch of dark, curly hair in the V of his thighs, and his cock emerged from the patch, erect and waiting, precum already beading at the tip. Alec squirmed a little and Magnus gave him a sharp slap on the thigh. “You know the rules, Alexander,” he said. “No moving unless I tell you to.”

Alec did not answer, but he stilled and Magnus followed the line of his thigh down to his calves. The muscles in his legs were at least as well-defined as the ones in his torso. His feet were crossed over one another, practically in Magnus’s lap, and his toes were curled. Alec had a tendency to jiggle his feet when he was nervous and Magnus could see that he was trying very hard not to do that now.

“You are stunning,” Magnus told him. “The number of times you’ve put this body in danger is atrocious.” He slapped Alec’s thigh again and Alec jerked. He slapped the other. “These marks…” he leaned over Alec and traced a finger down a long scar on his hip. He was close enough that if he bent a little further, he could take Alec’s cock in his mouth, but that wouldn’t be very punishing of him, and they both needed Alec to be punished right now.

He bent down and put his tongue on the scar instead. Alec shuddered. When he reached the end of it, about halfway down Alec’s thigh, he bit. “I should be the one to leave these marks,” Magnus said. He lapped at the reddening skin. “I’m the one who patches them. At the very least they should belong to me, don’t you think?” He moved to another scar below Alec’s knee and bit again. He looked up.

“I asked you a question, Alexander. Shouldn’t your scars belong to me?”

Alec exhaled shakily; he’d been holding his breath. “Yes, Mr. Bane,” he said, and as though being granted permission to speak untethered the control he’d been exerting over his body, he squirmed again.

Magnus sat back up on his heels. “Spread your legs,” he commanded. Alec let his knees fall apart, keeping his feet together in front of Magnus. Magnus grabbed his ankles and wrenched them apart. “Wider, Alexander.”

Alec let his feet fall off the sides of the bed as he spread his legs as wide as he could go. His thighs were pressed against the mattress, his fingers gripping the sheets tightly beside them. Magnus moved forward, remaining seated but now between Alec’s thighs, and he gripped Alec’s legs and pushed.

Alec groaned as Magnus spread him apart further. Magnus ignored him and hooked his hands under Alec’s knees, lifting his legs. Now his feet were dangling in the air, and Magnus was pushing his legs up so far that his ass rose up off the bed.

“Like this,” he said, and released one leg so that he could guide Alec’s hands to where his were, freeing his own hands for the exploration of Alec’s body. Alec held his own legs in place, keeping himself lifted partially off the bed, exposing himself thoroughly. Magnus trailed his right thumb under Alec’s balls, down the crease of his ass, and pressed at his hole. “Like this, so I can see you.”

Alec was shaking again. Magnus put his left hand up to Alec’s face. He caressed his chin, trailed his fingers over Alec’s lips; Alec parted his mouth and Magnus slipped his index finger inside.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked him. “Did you want me to use you like this?” He added another finger. “Open you up everywhere?”

Alec groaned around Magnus’s fingers, and Magnus crooked them so he could pull Alec’s mouth open. “I didn’t catch that,” he said.

Alec tried to reply, but Magnus was tugging at his jaw and pressing on his tongue and all that came out was “ah--ahh,” and Magnus responded by giving his balls a light squeeze. He added his ring finger to the two already in Alec’s mouth.

“If you love being used so much,” Magnus said, "Be _useful_.” He used his thumb to guide Alec’s chin back up, sealing his fingers in his mouth. Alec immediately went to work fellating them, swirling his tongue around all three, and Magnus teased him by spreading his fingers apart, then bringing them together again and thrusting in his mouth. He kept his right hand busy by trailing over Alec’s cock with small, ghostly touches, too gentle to give Alec anything more than a tickling sensation.

Alec bobbed his head forward to take Magnus’s fingers further and did a particularly naughty thing with the tip of his tongue against the underside of Magnus’s middle knuckle, and Magnus retaliated by gripping his cock tightly at its base. Alec choked and nearly bit down. For an instant, his hold on his legs loosened, and he almost dropped them. Magnus ripped his fingers away from Alec’s mouth and leaned in so their noses almost touched.

“Were you about to let yourself go?” he asked. Alec’s eyes were huge, the facade of fear shining in them, a desperation reserved only for this game they played. It made Magnus feel like he was winning.

“One touch and you were going to drop your legs? Is that all it takes for you, Alexander? Just one little squeeze for you to disobey? I thought you wanted this.”

“I do, Mr. Bane,” Alec gasped out, “I do want this, I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again, sir, please--”

“I know it won’t happen again.” Magnus got back in position. “Lift your legs higher.”

Alec tugged on his thighs. His knees were almost around his ears, almost touching the pillow where his hair was splayed out. He let out a little cry.

“Does that hurt?” Magnus asked. He stayed where he was but couldn’t stop himself from mentally pulling out of the scene to glance at Alec’s stomach. Stitches still in tact, though he probably shouldn’t keep him bent like this much longer.

“No. I mean, yes, but in a good way, not a ruby way,” Alec said.

Given confirmation that Alec was okay, Magnus seamlessly transitioned back into the moment. “In a good way? Do you like it when it hurts a little, Alexander?”

“Ahh...yes, sir,” Alec said, rocking back, ass coming even further off the mattress now. Now his knees _were_ touching his pillow, and Magnus knew he couldn’t hold that position long, not with that wound in his gut, and he wanted to take advantage of it while he could.

He drew a hand back and slapped Alec’s left ass cheek. Alec yelped.

“Is that the kind of hurt you like?” he asked. He did it again. He rose up on his knees, leaned closer to Alec. They were in such a position that, if Magnus wanted to, he could bang on Alec’s ass like a drum right now, slap down over and over again, carve out a rhythm of skin against skin from the man below him. But he didn’t want to waste time. He sucked a finger into his mouth and, without further prelude, inserted it into Alec.

Alec gasped. The sound was harsh; he hadn’t expected this intrusion so soon; and Magnus thrust in response. “Or is _this_ the kind of hurt you like?”

“That’s--yes, sir, that’s goo--good,” Alec sighed out, and Magnus drew his finger out and gently pushed Alec’s ass and legs back down so his back was flat on the mattress again, feet on the outside of Magnus’s knees. Alec looked disappointed.

“You do still have a hole in your stomach,” Magnus pointed out. Alec blushed and looked down at himself. Magnus looked down at him, too, checking the stitches again, and, yes, there was a tiny rivulet of greyish blood coming from one spot, but nothing serious; it was trailing down the V of Alec’s hips, down Alec’s groin to his erect cock, and as Magnus stared, Alec trailed his own hand down his chest, his abdomen, until his fingers caught the blood, and he brought it to his mouth and _licked_.

Magnus felt hot all over. He _burned_ with the feeling of watching Alec, his Alexander, naked below him with his fingers in his mouth, looking up at Magnus and turning the innocent lick into a deeper, dirtier version of the fellating he’d given Magnus’s fingers only seconds before. Alec’s hips were moving, small, staggering movements, up and off the mattress and back down again, thrusting into the air.

Magnus gripped his hips to still him. He could feel his eyes changing, and that felt hot, too; felt like he could catch Alec on fire just by looking at him. He looked anyway.

“Don’t move your hips,” he hissed. “How many times do I have to tell you? Keep sucking your fingers,” he added. “I want to see what your mouth can do. Are you pretending that’s my cock in there?”

Alec nodded and went to _town_ on his fingers, vigorously sucking and licking, thrusting them in and out of his mouth, spit dribbling down his chin, lips red and shiny with it. Magnus groaned. “Gods help me.” He leaned in and licked Alec’s chin, cleaning him up with his tongue. “Alexander. You are so _filthy_ sometimes.”

Alec made a sound that might have been assent, but Magnus couldn’t tell when his mouth was so full. He took hold of Alec’s wrist and gently withdrew his hand so he could replace it with his mouth. “You can move,” he said against his lips, and Alec immediately wrapped his arms around Magnus, pulling him down into the kiss, which was fast and dirty and wet. Magnus was still kneeling over him, Alec’s legs kept apart by Magnus’s legs between them, but he let himself be tugged onto Alec’s chest so he was lying on top of him while Alec frantically kissed him.

Alec’s hand were in his hair. They were on his neck. They were grazing his back, gripping his ass, touching every bit of Magnus he could reach. Magnus liked this part; he’d hold back, wait until Alec was _desperate_ to touch him, and then let Alec utterly worship him, let him run his hands over him until Alec was _almost_ satisfied, and then--

Magnus untangled himself from Alec’s grasp and sat back on his heels. Alec whined, but he went still. He knew this game of stop-and-go; Magnus would give him something he wanted, and he’d have only a few seconds to take advantage of the gift before it was ripped away again. The brevity of touch was what fueled the desperation. Magnus relished watching Alec squirm to control himself afterwards.

“You know what I think?” Magnus asked as though they were sitting across the dinner table from one another discussing what color to paint the walls rather than panting and sweating over each other in bed. Alec almost expected to hear _blush would be nice for the bathroom_ . “ _I_ think,” Magnus said, and there was a dangerous edge to his voice now, “that you _like_ making me mad at you.” He didn’t move from his position at the end of the bed, looming over Alec, but his presence was _everywhere,_ it was smothering, it was crawling over Alec’s skin and into his mouth and it felt like he was being touched all over. Alec shuddered.

“I think this is a game to you,” Magnus continued. “You get hurt; I fix you; I’m angry; you get fucked. Is that the game you’re playing, Alexander?”

The heat in Alec’s stomach cooled for a split second while he looked up to make sure Magnus wasn’t asking for _real_. It was hard to distinguish between true feelings and play feelings sometimes; they were usually good about communicating in bed (less so out in the real world), but Alec still had to lock eyes with Magnus and check in with his gaze. It was hard and dark, but it was even and a little cautious, and Alec knew that Magnus was still playing, but that he was nervous about what he was saying.

But Alec didn’t want to play this way. He didn’t want to think about how Magnus might believe there was a grain of truth to those words; that Magnus could believe he would ever hurt himself on purpose just to see Magnus react. Yeah, maybe he did like it when Magnus was a little angry, but Magnus being hurt was so different. So far from what he wanted. So he said, “No, Mags,” and reached a hand up for him. Magnus leaned in and let Alec cup his face. “I would never do that.”

Magnus closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of Alec, and Alec knew he’d been right about the doubt in his look. Magnus let himself stay there for a moment, Alec’s light touch on his cheek, before he kissed Alec’s palm and shivered a little, transitioning back into the scene.

“But you _do_ like me mad,” he said. His lips quirked up, the barest hint of a smirk daring Alec to answer. Alec squirmed and said nothing.

“Turn over,” Magnus ordered. “On your stomach.” He moved to let Alec move.

Alec scrambled to obey. Once he was lying face down, Magnus sat on his calves. He could feel Magnus’s erection bump against his leg as he got comfortable there.

“Lift your ass in the air,” Magnus said. Alec did. “Arch your back more than that.” Alec did. This was part of the game, too; dozens of micro-commands that Alec had to obey, all designed to make Alec prettier for Magnus, more open for him, more pliable and willing and anxious to please.

“That’s right,” Magnus said, and he rubbed his palm over the red mark he’d left on Alec’s ass earlier, a small, soothing circle. With his other hand, he pinched the back of Alec’s left thigh, then rubbed that mark. He alternated like that for a minute--pinch, soothe, pinch, soothe. Take and give. Hurt and heal. 

“You drive me crazy,” Magnus said, his voice hoarse, and he hooked his right arm under Alec’s stomach to pull his hips up further so Alec had to lift himself up onto his elbows. He knew he looked utterly lewd right now. He felt even more exposed than he did having his knees by his ears. He wondered what Magnus saw in this position; Alec’s hands clasped together and his forehead pressed into them, his elbows propping him up, his back pressed down as low as it could get because Magnus loved seeing the bend of his spine coming up to meet his ass, which was popped up in the air, skin stretching from the posturing so that his cheeks spread slightly. This was a _display._

“Absolutely crazy,” Magnus said again, and his thumbs were pulling apart Alec’s ass cheeks now. “Gods, Alexander. All the angels combined--I want to--”

“Do it,” Alec choked, and then he felt a soft puff of warm air at his opening, and then Magnus was rimming him. He groaned. His nerves were sharp and raw, live copper wires to which Magnus was the conduit, and he felt like he could come just from this barest whisper of tongue-on-skin.

Magnus knew he was close. The hand that was still holding Alec’s stomach up, keeping his hips in the air, moved to squeeze the base of his cock. “Don’t you dare,” Magnus hissed, and began to _make out_ with Alec’s hole, slow but not sweet, fierce kisses and long licks that had Alec shaking beneath him. Magnus gripped him tighter as he moved lower, tonguing over Alec’s perineum. Alec felt Magnus’s left hand stroking over his cheeks and then a finger prodding at him, opening him once again.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Magnus asked, and the words sent another hot breath over Alec’s ass, and he shook harder. He tried to say “yes” but couldn’t get the word out. “Do you want me to make you feel good? Do you think you deserve that, Alexander, after everything you put me through today?”

Magnus pulled his mouth away but kept his finger in place, giving Alec little shallow thrusts. “Tell me what you think you deserve.” Magnus’s right hand left his cock and slid up his chest until it was closing around Alec’s throat. “Tell me what you think I should give you after you scared the shit out of me. What do you deserve?” He squeezed.

Alec coughed. “Nothing,” he gasped, “I don’t deserve anything, Mr. Bane.”

“That’s right,” Magnus said, and he slid a second finger into Alec’s ass. “And what do _I_ deserve?”

“Everything, Mr. Bane,” Alec said. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want,” Magnus mused, and his grip tightened around Alec’s neck. “Maybe I want to choke you until you pass out and use you until you wake up, and then do it all over again. Would you like that?”

“Oh, I--yes, Mr. Bane,” Alec said. They’d never played that rough before, but it was a topic they’d broached in the past--something Alec wanted but Magnus was scared to try. Alec wanted to _take_ it, wanted to hurt; Magnus didn’t want to lose control and _really_ hurt him.

Magnus had moved up his body. His left hand still pumped in and out of Alec, his right holding his throat, and Magnus was on his knees, thighs parallel to Alec’s, and his stomach was over Alec’s back. They were touching in so many places. Magnus got as close to Alec’s ear as he could without letting him go. “If you’d like it, it isn’t much of a punishment, is it, Alexander?” And then he added, in a gentle whisper, “Maybe next time, when you’re less...stabbed.” 

He moved his hips against Alec’s, his cock bumping Alec’s ass. He let go of Alec’s neck and planted his hand on the mattress next to Alec’s hand, bracing himself.

“Maybe I want to pick you up and fuck you against the window,” Magnus said. He still hadn’t added a third finger, but he was actively rutting against Alec now. Alec could hear himself panting but felt no control over his movements, over the sounds he was making. “I bet you’d like that. You’re a showoff. The way you put your ass up in the air for me--you’d like to do that in front of the window, wouldn’t you? Where anyone might see?”

“Fuck, Magnus, yes--”

Alec realized his mistake instantly, but it was too late. Magnus had gone completely still. He didn’t withdraw his fingers ( _thankfuckingsaints_ , Alec thought), but he stopped moving them, stopped moving his hips. Alec could feel his breath on his neck.

“Would you,” Magnus said, and there was an undercurrent of ice in his tone, “care to correct yourself, Alexander?”

Alec sucked in a breath to keep himself from crying out at all the halted pleasure. “ _Mr. Bane,_ ” he said, enunciating clearly. “Mr. Bane. I’m sorry, Mr. Bane.”

“Can you stand?” Magnus asked. Alec paused; it hadn’t even occurred to him that he might _not_ be able to stand. He looked down at his stomach, and Magnus apparently had the same thought because he was moving his right hand again, gently feeling the stitches along Alec’s abdomen. They were nearly invisible now, the one broken stitch only evident by its pinkness relative to the others. Alec was sore all over, the muscles of his stomach bruised in places, but it wasn’t a terrible soreness; it was the kind of ache that could be good under the right circumstances. His wound had healed enough that he could see himself and Magnus creating those circumstances any second now. He tested himself by shifting under Magnus, tightening his stomach. It didn’t hurt.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and Magnus moved _instantly_. He pulled Alec from the bed, both arms locked around his stomach, and dragged him to the window. Alec wondered briefly why he’d even bothered to ask if he could stand if he wasn’t going to let Alec use his feet anyway.

Magnus pushed him onto the windowseat so that he was kneeling in front of the glass, his back to Magnus, his front to the world. The loft was high, but there were other high-rise apartments nearby, close enough that a neighbor curious enough to pull up their blinds might be getting a show.

“Hands on the glass,” Magnus said. Alec complied instantly. “Pop your butt out for me. Just because you put your hands up doesn’t mean you can slack everywhere else. Spread your legs wider than that, Alexander, I want to _see_ you.”

Magnus’s hands came to Alec’s hips in a bruising grasp, fingers tight against the skin. He yanked and Alec slid down the glass a few inches before he caught himself.

“You’re going to show yourself off for me,” Magnus said. “You’re going to show the world what a self-sacrificing slut you are. How much you love being the center of attention.” Alec felt the head of Magnus’s cock sliding against his ass. He could see his own breath on the window. One of Magnus’s hands came up and gripped his hair, pulling his head back. Now he was in nearly the same position he’d been in on the bed, only this time he was kneeling while Magnus was standing behind him, and his hands were braced against glass instead of a mattress, and Magnus had his head pulled back so his neck was exposed and _gods_ he felt so _open_ like this.

“You’re going to keep your hands on the glass where I can see them,” Magnus hissed into his ear. It wasn’t a question. Alec nodded in response anyway, biting his lip. “If you drop your hands, if you pull your legs together, if you drop your ass--I’m going to stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Bane,” Alec said. His voice strained against the tautness in his neck as Magnus pulled his hair harder, leaning his head back further.

Across the street at the nearest highrise, the massive balcony doors of a penthouse opened, and light flooded out, along with at least a dozen people coming onto the balcony to smoke cigarettes. Alec blinked.

“Oh, look. A party,” Magnus said, and he sank his cock all the way into Alec without hesitation.

“Oh, fu--fuuuuuck, Ma--Mr. Bane, gods, please,” Alec whimpered, and Magnus tugged on his hair, keeping his throat exposed. His other hand was holding Alec’s hip in place while he pounded into him. The muscles in Alec’s legs clenched and quivered. Magnus slapped his left ass cheek.

“Don’t close your legs,” he warned. Alec just moaned in response. He was so, so close, so on edge, so teased. “And _don’t_ come,” Magnus added, as if he’d read Alec’s mind.

“But--please, sir--”

Magnus slapped him again. “Are you contradicting me?” he asked. Alec shook his head fiercely. “If you come now, it won’t be much of a show, will it?”

The party in the penthouse couldn’t really see them, he knew; Magnus kept glamours up around the windows to prevent mundanes from calling the police when greater demons exploded in the loft across the street. But a few of the congregation were casting glances their way anyway, as though they knew _something_ was happening, even if they couldn’t make out what.

“We want to give them a show,” Magnus said. “We want to show them how _good_ you are for me. How well you take this.” He gave him another sharp slap. “I bet you’d like it if I took the glamours down. You’d _love_ for them--for anyone--to see you like this, spread out for me, taking my cock in your ass, panting against the window.” Magnus pulled out almost all the way, then plunged in again, making Alec jerk forward. His cock nearly hit the glass. “Keep your ass out.” He pulled out again. Thrust forward again. Alec cried out and tried to keep still. “That’s it, babe. Just take it.”

“They’d get off to the memory of you later,” Magnus continued. “This picture of you looking so messy and slutty, squirming around like you’ve got no control. You’d like that, too,” he added thoughtfully. “You’d like to think of strangers jerking off, imagining you just letting yourself go--” he punctuated the sentence with a third forceful thrust, slamming into his prostate, and despite Alec’s orders, he came then. White strings of cum plastered the glass and he was sweating and on the verge of sobbing with how _good_ it felt. He shook through it, not even noticing that Magnus hadn’t stopped moving; he shook and collapsed and melted into the windowseat.

“That was not very kind, Alexander,” Magnus said, and he began _pounding_ into Alec, putting everything he had into it, and there was no way Alec would be able to put his hands back on the glass or concentrate now on keeping his legs apart, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Magnus was manhandling him, pulling him back on the cushion, lining him up and pushing into him over and over again, faster, harder. He kept a hand on Alec’s hip, holding him in place for his cock, and put the other on Alec’s throat again. “Such a fucking showoff,” he gasped, and Alec heard how close Magnus was in that breath. “Gods, so--ungh, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t feel anything, Alec, going to fuck you until you’re numb--”

Alec wanted to go numb now; he was so overstimulated and he couldn’t stop himself from squirming, trying to get out of Magnus’s grasp and find some relief from the relentless in and out and in and out of Magnus’s cock. But Magnus held him in place.

“You’re going to feel this,” Magnus growled at him. “You’re going to feel every _inch_ of me inside you until I come, and then you’re going to ride me until I’m done coming. You wanted hurt? I’m giving you hurt.” His hand tightened around Alec’s throat until Alec saw stars, and then he felt the hot jet of Magnus’s orgasm flooding into him. He could barely think, see, breathe--but he pushed back anyway. His body shouted at him that it was too sensitive, but he did it again, did as Magnus said, rode him through his orgasm.

“Fuck, yes, Alexander, yes, that’s _so_ good, babe, yes, c’mon--”

Magnus let go of his throat and put both arms around Alec’s waist and squeezed him. His hips gave a last stuttering jerk, and then he pulled out of Alec.

“Edom help me,” Magnus said, and huffed out a laugh. “Gods. Are you okay?”

He turned Alec around and helped him sit on the cushion, facing away from the window now. He ran fluttering fingers down Alec’s side, down to where the wound had been, caressing the now-faint stitch marks. “Does it hurt?”

Alec shook his head. He was utterly boneless now; he slumped back against the window, not caring that he could feel the cum on the glass against his back, letting his legs splay out in front of him. “Feels fine,” he mumbled. He felt exhausted suddenly. Sated and sore and exhausted.

Magnus looked worried. “Are you sure? You look tired,” he said.

Alec laughed. “Mags,” he said. “Show me the stamina rune that could last through a fucking like _that_ and I’ll wear it proudly. I’m fine, I promise.” He reached his arms out for Magnus.

“Hold on,” Magnus said, and he ran to the bathroom. Alec watched him. Magnus always moved so surely and swiftly, like everywhere he was going was someplace he was meant to be. It made Alec feel safe.

Magnus came back with a warm, damp cloth. He dabbed it over Alec’s stomach and thighs, chuckling when Alec’s cock jumped. “Don’t get any ideas,” he said. “You’re not up for round two.”

“It’s just sensitive!” Alec complained. He took the cloth from Magnus and finished wiping himself off. He held out his arms again. “Now cuddle with me.”

“You’re so cute and obstinate when you’ve just almost died and then been pounded into oblivion by my dick.” Alec raised his eyebrows and Magnus sighed. “Okay. But we’re not falling asleep here! You need a warm bed. And maybe even some chicken soup.” He crawled into Alec’s arms and curled up against his chest.

“You’re offering to cook for me?” Alec asked. “You must really have forgiven me, then.”

“I didn’t say I would cook it,” Magnus said. “Jade Wolf does takeout. And of course I forgive you. I’ll probably always forgive you. Doesn’t mean I’m okay with you getting a tail through your stomach.” he shuddered. Alec pulled him in closer.

“I really am sorry, Mags,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry. I never want to hurt you like that.”

Magnus snuggled in, letting Alec envelop him. Magnus was taller, but Alec was broader, his chest the perfect size for leaning against.

“I know. We can talk about it later,” Magnus said. “I mean, for real. We should talk about it later. We can’t just fuck it out every time we have a problem.”

“Is that a problem?” Alec asked, and Magnus looked up at him sternly.

“You are far too sickly to be this sarcastic right now,” he said.

Alec grinned, but he said, “I promise we’ll talk about it. I mean it,” he added as Magnus arched an eyebrow. “I really hadn’t thought of it like--I really hadn’t considered how you must feel, seeing me get hurt like that. I _want_ to talk about it, and--” he couldn’t stop a massive yawn from interrupting his words. “and stuff,” he finished lamely, exhaustion flaring up again.

“And stuff,” Magnus laughed, and he pulled out of Alec’s arms. Alec whined at him. “C’mon, Mr. Hero. Let’s go to bed.”

Alec let Magnus pull him off the windowseat and lead him to bed--not the hospital bed by the kitchen where the smell of blood and sanitizing solution still hung in the air, but their big comfy king bed in the middle of the loft, where three cats were already curled up together in a pile. Magnus gently dragged the blanket the cats were on to the foot of the bed, then held up the sheets for Alec to get under them.

“You’re such a gentleman,” Alec said. Magnus winked.

A short time later, after Alec fell asleep, Magnus tiptoed around the loft, wiping down the window and cleaning up the kitchen. He could magic most of the mess away, but he liked the time it took, liked clearing his head this way. When he was done, he poured himself another glass of wine (he didn’t get to finish his first) and went back to the bedroom.

There, he stood in the doorway sipping his wine, watching the rise and fall of Alec’s chest as he slept, relishing the knowledge of his breathing. Watched the twitching of his long, dark eyelashes and the intermittent clenching of his fists as he dreamed. Magnus crept over and lifted the sheets, examining the place where the demon’s tail had been hours earlier. It looked almost normal now; the only evidence of injury was a slight discoloration. And below that, past the dark curls under his belly button, Magnus could see exactly what kind of dream Alec was--

“Magnus?”

Magnus looked up. Alec was looking at him, bleary-eyed.

“Are you _peeping_ at me?”

Magnus put a hand to Alec’s forehead. “Alexander, darling, you’re delirious. Go back to sleep.”

Alec squinted suspiciously, but he said “Okay,” and his eyes began to drift shut again. He didn't open them when he murmured, "but come with me."

Magnus finished his wine, set the glass on the bedside table, and crawled back under the sheets to curl up against Alec’s chest. He sighed in satisfaction as Alec’s arm automatically came up around him, and he listened to the beat of Alec’s heart, a steady rhythm that he hoped he’d never stop hearing. "Always," he said. 

  
  
  



End file.
